


Shadows IV: Mad Drift

by Teland



Series: Shadows of Better Men [4]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Established Relationship, Introspection, M/M, Problematic Relationship Choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-12-03
Updated: 1998-12-03
Packaged: 2020-12-09 07:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20991305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: I don't want him to leave.





	Shadows IV: Mad Drift

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ciceqi for beta!

Alex is asleep is beneath me. I am resting my head on his   
chest, still damp with our sweat and other things, and I   
can't help but wonder what the hell happened.

Two weeks ago, I hunted him down and held a gun to his head   
until we could break up like adults. Perhaps that seems   
extreme. But there have honestly been times when I've   
wondered if the man sends out some sort of adolescence ray. 

My mother would get lonely sometimes and begin to talk,   
randomly, about her childhood. One of her favorite tales   
was of the inkwells that used to be found in school desks,   
and how the boys, apparently, lived to dip the girls'   
braids in the things.

I think my mother's childhood was a tad more rural than   
most.

In any case, all children go through that in some form.   
Fighting, tormenting, generally making the lives of those   
we are attracted to as hellish as possible. For most   
people, this sort of thing ends, oh, say, right around the   
time intense masturbation begins.

At least, that's the way it was for me. It was always much   
safer to beat off regularly and at length than to roll   
around on some dusty playground with another kid, and   
*then* have to run and beat off. If I never hear the words   
"whatcha got in your pants, Fox?" again from another   
clueless kid I can die happy.

I have to stop and examine that last statement for land   
mines. I think I want to remove the word "clueless" from   
the record, your honor. I really didn't mean to qualify   
that. Really.

In any case, Alex just seemed to drag me right back to   
middle school. From the beginning. I mocked him, I abused   
him, I treated him like some "second" out of an overheated   
British boys' school novel. And then I went home and beat   
off thinking about taking it that one last step.

Ripping him out of that bad suit, or maybe just moving it   
aside enough for me to get to what I wanted. I would go   
home, and I would dream of sucking him off, and using his   
come to slick myself just enough that I didn't rip him   
apart when I fucked his sweet little ass. 

He was thinner then, at least it seemed that way. I could   
only ever get glimpses of his form under those terrible   
suits. I suppose it's entirely possible that if I'd ever   
tried to peel him out of them, I wouldn't have been able to   
stop.

No, it's probable. All that lean muscle may be new, but his   
skin... His skin is smooth, silken and nearly hairless.   
Once I'd seen it, I wouldn't have been able to stop, and I   
would have begun using my mouth far sooner than in the   
fantasies, and he would have had to pull me off by the hair   
if he ever wanted me to stop.

Which he doesn't appear to. I've been dragging my lips over   
his chest for quite some time now, and he's still sleeping   
peacefully. I can tell. When he's not awake, he smells   
different. Quicksilver motion and emotion stilled,   
thickened into sleep-scent. A winter slowing of sensation,   
warm and needful. 

I don't want him to leave.

I don't know why he's here. 

Last night he knocked at my door -- knocked, perhaps the   
first sign of trouble -- and held out a disk to me. He   
didn't say a word, but when I reached to take it from him   
his hand trembled, and his fingers tightened on the disk,   
and he shook his head tightly. It was all very...   
different. 

I began to wonder if this was some new paranoia game that   
Frohike had been remiss in teaching me, and looked around   
for unobtrusive pieces of machinery. The next thing I knew   
Alex was... Alex was *welded* to me, breathing hard against   
my face and so close that I needed to get closer.

There are so many things in this world that we remain   
unaware are necessary until we are given them, for some   
brief moment. 

I wanted to ask him what he was doing here, and I may have   
even done so, but the only answer I received was Alex   
slipping his hand in my pocket and taking far too long to   
leave the disk. And he was searching my face, and whatever   
he saw there made him close his eyes and buck against me.

And whisper my name against my lips until I thought I would   
come from the sound alone, and had to kiss him silent   
solely for my own protection.

Needless to say, whether or not I actually asked the   
question, it was never answered. It seemed as though I   
blinked and found myself naked, blinked again and found   
myself on the bed. The bed. Well, it hadn't taken me long   
to decide to be happy I had one again, however the hell   
that happened, and it took even less time to be happy   
Scully had convinced me to lose the waterbed, if not   
necessarily the mirror. 

I didn't want to look in the mirror, but I didn't have much   
choice. It had been... too much to look at Alex himself. I   
don't think he blinked the entire time he was sucking me,   
just watched my face, watched my eyes. And whatever he saw   
there pleased him.

I had thought we were beyond such insecure tests of each   
other's sexual prowess, but perhaps this was his way of   
apologizing... No, that's not quite right. If anything at   
all, this was the *result* of an apology spoken to no one   
but himself. Some approximation of "you know I'm sorry, but   
I don't know yet if you've accepted it, so I'm just going   
to have to blow you until you make me believe that you *do*   
accept it."

But if that were so, he never would've let me push him off   
and make my own paths along his body, roads for the peaks   
of his nipples and valley of his navel. And then giving up   
all hope of poetic love-making just to shove my tongue deep   
inside him and make him cry out at the assault.

I don't want him to leave. I'm not done, I'm not finished,   
I need to hear that again and again. I need. 

The solution to that problem has ever been a simple one:   
provide that which is needed and be allowed to take   
whatever it is that *you* need in return. You scratch my   
back, I'll lick yours. Or something. 

So what is it that I can give Alex to keep him here? I   
already figured out that it isn't my body, however its use   
may satisfy us both in the small hours. And I've already   
decided, with noble indignation, that I couldn't toss away   
what I think of as my soul. Not even for him.

That hasn't changed.

The question becomes not "why are you here," but "what's   
different about us this time?" I wasn't aware of any vast   
changes in myself beyond wondering if I was a fool more   
often than usual. But the idea that he's changed -- that   
anyone *would* change for me...

Some things go beyond ego to insanity. Far easier to   
believe that his balls ached without my mouth to suck them,   
that this is some Byzantine game over and above the others   
he's played with god knows how many victims, including   
myself. 

But he wanted more than just a quick fuck, always did. Got   
pissed when I implied that's all I'd wanted. Adolescents,   
Christ, we're too old to be this young.

I should be punished, smited with Acne from On High for   
such immaturity. 

The thought makes me laugh, and he stirs, a whisper of   
adrenaline cutting through the warm cloud of his rest. His   
rest in my bed. I nuzzle against him in the hopes of making   
him settle, and he does, murmuring. 

I stop and listen to his heartbeat until it slows and   
regulates nearly enough to put me back to sleep.

I don't want him to leave. 

But this... this isn't right. We haven't solved anything,   
have we?

Why *does* Alex think I left that night? I left because I   
didn't want pity sex, didn't want to make love to anyone   
who didn't love me, but does he know that? Perhaps, to him,   
my leaving was just a response to his... failure.

Not just to make me into the Mulder he wanted, I think he'd   
acknowledged that long before I hunted him down again, but   
also his failure to... have an adult relationship with me.

Whether he knew it or not, I can't help but think that was   
one of his goals. A "well, hell... I never tried *this*   
before" moment. And so he failed, and so I walked out on   
him. After all, to a man like Alex, every failure has most   
probably meant some larger catastrophe. 

It is, quite literally, all about him. At least when he   
fucks up.

We are not so different, perhaps.

So that leaves us, where? He comes here because I no longer   
have to leave him because he's... learned his lesson. He   
was going about this whole relationship thing wrong, and   
now that he's willing to try again, I should just lay back   
and enjoy Alex.

New and improved Alex. 

Jesus. Did I do this?

The way he watched me tonight, hungry for reassurance...   
that *need*.... Is it possible that now that he's   
acknowledged I was correct, he really is doing his best to   
fix the problem? Said that way, it doesn't seem so ominous. 

But this is Alex. Alex's idea of soul-searching and self-  
improvement is to find the flaw and remove it, ruthlessly   
and brutally. I want to believe that such things aren't   
possible... but I know, I *know* that I may not be sleeping   
with the same man who shared my bed regularly for a few   
months just a little while ago.

He wanted me to change, I told him I couldn't, he believed   
me. And then... and then he went back and made himself an   
Alex who could live with that. Because... because whether   
or not he could have the Mulder he originally wanted, the   
Mulder I am was too... too important to lose. 

And now he wants to make sure he suits me. 

I feel sick. I don't know if it's better or worse that I   
honestly don't think he's consciously aware of what he's   
done to himself. I don't know how I feel that he's done   
this at all. 

Is this what I wanted? Did I ever make the wish loud enough   
to catch the attention of some passing deity with a sick   
sense of humor? Who is this man in my bed?

I don't want him to leave. But does that mean I'm   
acknowledging my feelings for him like an adult? Or is it   
just the victory of a spoiled child?

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~


End file.
